


Keep on twistin

by rickyisms



Series: it all started with 1 (one) twitter DM [5]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Communication, Kink Negotiation, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Sex Toys, established relationship., healthy communication is important!, it's less negotiation more communication but you get the vibe, this is mostly about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25198048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms
Summary: Kent breaks curfew to surprise Whiskey, climbs a tree, accidentally finds a box of sex toys and squeezes in some serious cuddling time
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Series: it all started with 1 (one) twitter DM [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738009
Comments: 7
Kudos: 123





	Keep on twistin

**Author's Note:**

> me: i need a title for this fic about kent parson  
> me: idc just slap some kelly clarkson lyrics in here  
> title is from love so soft. 
> 
> There is a fairly explicit sex scene in here but everything is safe and consensual and as always, very soft.  
> no beta we write and then post immediately and you guys just get to deal with that

Never let it be said that Kent Parson wouldn’t do anything for a kiss from his boyfriend, up to and including, climbing a tree to sneak into a frat house. They talk everyday, fall asleep on the phone more often than not, stay up late on facetime. If Kent’s up after 7, he wakes up to a good morning text, if he’s up before that, he’s the one to send it. And honestly, everything’s really really good and Kent’s happy and in love and satisfied with his life in ways he never thought he even could be… but sometimes, he just really really wants a kiss. 

It’s only an hour flight from New York city to Boston and JFK is only a few minutes drive from the team’s hotel near Madison Square Garden, so, while everyone else was getting ready for bed, Kent told Swoops to cover for him, he’d be back in time to get on the bus for Long Island in the morning. He just wanted to see Whiskey, so badly that he’d forgotten to text him until he was 15 minutes from landing.  _ You’re insane,  _ Whiskey had replied,  _ Fuck i can’t wait to see you though,  _ the text a few seconds later. 

So he’s in a tree, not his smartest move, admittedly. But he can’t just waltz in the front door, not when he can see the glow of the TV through the window. And he can see Whiskey’s bedroom from the street, and he can get on the roof pretty easily from the branches, so… tree. 

His dress shirt catches on one of the branches as he shimmies to the top, it’s fine, he has four more just like it. He makes the transition from tree to roof without incident though, he’s on his hands and knees and he crawls across the shingles. Whiskey’s curtains are open and Kent can see him wandering around his room, he has his airpods in, moving his head to the side to the beat of the music. His laptop is open, a forum post being written by the looks of it. He wanders back and forth with his textbook in his hand, a highlighter tucked into his back pocket. Kent feels the wind being knocked out of him. Connor. Whiskey. Baby. He reaches up to tap on the window, but Whiskey turns around and sees him, his shoulders soften as he walks over to the window. He opens it.

“You’re on the roof,” he says, deadpan, the faintest hint of a smile creeping on to his face. 

“Can I come inside?” Kent asks. 

“I dunno, don’t you want to spy on me some more?” Whiskey teases. 

“Please let me come in and kiss you,” Kent says. 

Whiskey leans his head out the window and presses his lips to Kent’s. He pulls away as Kent comes into the bedroom, landing feet first, right in front of Whiskey. 

“Hi-” Whiskey starts, but Kent came for more than just a single kiss. He wraps his arms around Whiskey’s neck and pulls him down for another kiss. The rest of Whiskey’s sentence dies on his tongue as he puts one hand on Kent’s shoulder, places the other on the small of his back so he can press them together. 

“I feel like you’re definitely breaking team curfew,” Whiskey smirks against the side of his face, planting a kiss on his neck. 

“Swoops owes me,” Kent mutters. 

“I wouldn’t want you getting scratched for missing team breakfast.” Whiskey says, Kent rolls his eyes. 

He takes his hands off of Kent and walks to the door. He locks it, “Tango doesn’t knock, he explains.”

Kent presses up behind him, kissing the side of his neck. His hand pushes under his shirt, fingers grazing over his hipbone. 

Whiskey sighs, “I hate to do this,” he says, “but I have to finish this forum response, it’s due by midnight. The second I hit post, I’m all yours,” he says. 

Kent holds his hands up and nods. 

“I am pro-schoolwork,” Kent says and takes a step back. 

“That makes one of us,” Whiskey mumbles. 

He sits down at his desk chair, Kent flops into his bed, pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He checks Instagram, ignoring the team groupchat, it’s mostly memes. There’s a text from Swoops.  _ Scrappy asked where you were and i told him u have diarrhea. Ur welcome 4 that btw.  _

Kent rolls his eyes. 

Kent: Worth it

His phone vibrates in his hand almost immediately. 

Swoops: Slut ;p

Kent: ur emoji game needs work

Kent: and who are you calling a slut

Kent: go get pegged by ur fiance jeffrey

“Can I borrow some sweats?” Kent asks, laughing to himself as he tosses his phone to the end of the mattress. 

“Top drawer,” Whiskey says without looking up from what he’s typing. 

Kent gets up and walks over to his dresser. He looks at the stack of textbooks on top, next to it, a framed photo of Whiskey, Tango and Foxtrot from an Aces game last year. He strips off his dress slacks and kicks them beside Whiskey’s hamper. 

“You’re distracting,” Whiskey mutters. 

“I’m sorry that this ass can’t be contained,” Kent winks.

Whiskey turns back to his laptop while Kent pulls a pair of grey sweatpants on. He pulls at the drawstring so they stay up. Then he starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, he wiggles his finger through the hole. He has an undershirt but it’s cold so he starts rifling around Whiskey’s dresser looking for a hoodie or something. Whiskey closes his laptop and turns around just as Kent’s hand hits something hard and square in the t-shirt drawer. Whiskey looks horrified. 

Kent looks down and sees a shoebox. 

“I don’t suppose there’s a hoodie in here?” he picks it up and smiles. 

Whiskey’s turned bright red, redder than Kent’s ever seen him get. 

“I’ll just put it back,” Kent says, perfectly content to leave whatever it is well enough alone. 

“No,” Whiskey mumbles, looking down at his own socked feet, “You can look if you want.”

Kent looks down at the box in his hands, then up at the blush creeping down his boyfriend’s neck, and, well, he has a guess as to what might be in the box. He walks over to the bed and sets it down. Whiskey has his face buried in his hands as he sits next to Kent. Kent puts the box on his lap and takes the lid off. 

“Oh fuck,” Kent says. 

He’s looking down at a box of sex toys. 

Whiskey’s blush is all encompassing now, he groans, “Ford and I got drunk one night and she had the page open and we were online shopping and I kind of just went nuts,” he says. 

Kent picks up a light blue dildo, soft silicone, he can’t help but imagine Whiskey sinking down on to it. He looks down again and sees a buttplug, a vibrating prostate massager and his mouth goes dry. 

“I didn’t mean for you to see it,” Whiskey mumbles, “I haven’t really used most of it.”

Kent puts his hand on Whiskey’s thigh, “I have never been so pumped to accidentally see something in my entire life,” Kent leans forward and plants a small kiss on the bridge of Whiskey’s nose, “Can I… I mean, can we… use them,” Kent says.

Whiskey’s eyes blow wide, the blush drains from his face as he looks from Kent, to the box, back to Kent. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Kent says quickly. 

“I uh, “ Whiskey stutters, “I want to, just… can we,” he looks down at the box and picks up a pair of restraints that Kent had brushed over, “Will you…This?” he trails off. 

Kent smirks, “You have to ask for it.”

Whiskey’s mouth forms a thin line, “Will you tie me to the headboard and fuck me,” he looks Kent dead in the eyes, no expression in his voice other than exasperation, “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Kent takes the restraints out of Whiskey’s hand, they’re a deep red, they’ll lock around Whiskey’s wrist and there’s a string to tie them to the headboard. 

“Did you finish your homework,” Kent says, just to be a pest, honestly. 

Whiskey nods, he reaches over to the night stand and turns his phone on. He connects it to his speaker and opens Spotify, Kent nuzzles up beside him, running his lips over his jaw. 

“Do you have a sex playlist just for me?” Kent holds his hand to his heart and grins. 

“Fuck off,” Whiskey shoves him, “I don’t share a wall with anyone, but they’re still thin,” he says. 

“Gonna stay quiet for me, then?” Kent grumbles, pressing his lips to Whiskey’s, biting down gently. 

Whiskey just nods as Kent swings his legs over Whiskey’s thighs and settles into his lap. 

Whiskey tangles his fingers into the mess of hair at the nape of Kent’s neck, “Tell me if anything’s too much, okay?” Kent says. 

And Whiskey nods. Kent knows, by now, that although Whiskey likes it when Kent talks during sex, he himself goes sort of quiet, talks with his hands more than his mouth. Kent knows how to interpret his touches, but with his hands out of the way, Kent wants to make sure Whiskey’s going to be okay, that it’ll be good for him. 

“Is there anything else you want?” Kent asks, hand gently resting on the fabric of Whiskey’s green polo. 

Whiskey bites his bottom lip, shakes his head, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.”

“Okay,” Kent says, “Then we can get rid of this,” Kent slips his hands underneath Whiskey's shirt. Whiskey goes soft and pliant, moves his arms above his head so Kent can slip it off of him. He takes his own shirt off in the process, dropping it to the floor. Kent runs his hands over Whiskey’s chest, over his stomach, hand curling around his waist. 

“Missed you,” he says before leaning down to kiss him. Whiskey meets him with an open mouth, tongue sliding against Kent’s. 

Kent takes both of Whiskey’s hands in his, “Let’s do this,” Kent says. 

Whiskey nods. He positions himself against the headboard, Kent keeps his hands on top of Whiskey, laying on top of him, fluttering kisses over his shoulders and neck. He picks up one of the cuffs and attaches it to Whiskey’s left wrist. He runs his fingers over Whiskey’s forearms, he feels the goosebumps, Whiskey’s hair standing on end. He ties the first cuff to the headboard above Whiskey’s head. Whiskey shudders underneath of him. Kent stops. 

“Good?” He asks.

Whiskey nods, “Good,” he confirms. 

Kent takes Whiskey’s other hand in his and fastens the other cuff. He ties it to the headboard so Whiskey’s hands are close together, he doesn’t look uncomfortable, on the contrary, he’s writhing underneath Kent, trying to find some friction, clearly very very into it. 

Kent’s torn between wanting to take this slowly, savour every second of having Whiskey pinned underneath of him, and wanting to dive into this. Whiskey decides for him, he still has full control of his legs, and he kicks Kent, gently on the back. 

“Hurry up,” he hisses. 

Kent can see Whiskey’s erection in his pants, he’s still squirming. And Kent’s not here to torture him, tease him a little, maybe, but not torture. 

Whiskey lets out a breathy noise as Kent eases his pants off. He takes a second just to look. He’s laid out underneath of him, Kent kneeling just over top of Whiskey’s legs. He runs his hands over Whiskey’s thighs. Whiskey grumbles at him to hurry up, Kent smirks.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re sexy when you’re impatient.”

“You, at least twice,” Whiskey shoots back at Kent almost as soon as the words leave Kent’s mouth. Kent shrugs off the sweatpants he’s just put on before he braces his hands over Whiskey’s thighs. He leans down, softly kisses his thigh, just where the boxers meet his skin. 

“You’re the worst,” Whiskey whispers. 

Kent nips at his inner thigh and Whiskey jumps underneath of him, bites back a moan. 

“I just wanna kiss every inch of you,” Kent says. 

“I can think of a few very specific inches you haven’t touched yet,” Whiskey says through gritted teeth. 

Kent presses his lips to the fabric just below where Whiskey’s bulge is. He brushes his lips over the outline. Whiskey bites down on his tongue, holding back a whine. 

“Look at you, being patient,” Kent teases. 

“Baby,” Whiskey says, taking up a warning tone. 

Kent finally pulls Whiskey’s underwear off. He presses a kiss to the top of his dick and Whiskey gives him a look that could kill.

“Lube?” Kent asks. 

“Night stand,” Whiskey answers, he jerks his head toward the drawer. 

Kent gets off of the bed. He finds a bottle of lube, only half full, last time he’d visited it had been new, he thinks about the dildo in the shoebox on the floor and smirks. He picks up one of the condoms and returns to sit over top of Whiskey. He places the condom on Whiskey’s chest. 

“Really?” Whiskey asks, unamused, the condom is where he can’t really reach it, so he just has to let it sit there. 

Kent smirks and shrugs, “You make a good table, baby.”

“You are in fact, the worst,” Whiskey says. 

Kent opens the bottle of lube, drizzles some on his hands to warm it up before he rubs it against Whiskey’s hole. 

Whiskey hisses, thrusting his hips forward and Kent decides to be nice, giving him a finger right away. He plants another little kiss on the inside of Whiskey’s thigh, gentle as he curls his finger, gently pressing against Whiskey’s prostate. Whiskey bites down on his lip again. Kent can see the word “more” forming in his mouth, so without being asked, he adds a second finger. His other hand traces the dip above Whiskey’s collarbone. Whiskey’s head falls to the side, eyes closed, face scrunched up in pleasure as Kent adds a third finger. His other thumb brushes the corner of Whiskey’s mouth. Whiskey’s tongue comes out to lick the pad of his finger, Kent runs his thumb along Whiskey’s lips, Whiskey stifling noises. 

Kent likes bottoming for Whiskey, don’t get him wrong, he can let himself get taken care of. But there’s something electrifying about being in this position, being so able to give Whiskey whatever he wants, being the reason he’s stifling a moan. He looks at Whiskey’s scrunched nose and his open mouth and he thinks  _ damn, I did that.  _ And right now, tied up, hands out of the way, it’s making Kent’s stomach drop. He looks so  _ good  _ and like he’s there, laid out for Kent to take care of. They haven’t done anything like this, not really. At first it was just because they didn’t see each other often enough, but then over the summer, they just fell into a rhythm. It was never boring, but they figured out what they liked and they stuck with it. 

Kent takes the condom off of Whiskey’s chest and Whiskey huffs out a dry laugh. 

“Ready?” Kent asks.

Whiskey just nods. Kent shimmies out of his shorts and rolls the condom on. 

“You look so good,” Kent says, hiking Whiskey’s leg up over his shoulder. 

Whiskey turns his head and bites down on his own shoulder as Kent eases himself in. He goes slowly, gentle. He sees Whiskey’s hands strain against the cuffs, his instinct is always to put his hands on Kent. Kent smirks. He’s breathing heavy already and he’s pretty sure he won’t last long, 

Praise starts to fall from Kent’s lips with obscenities sprinkled in every now and then, he’s pretty sure he calls Whiskey, “fucking beautiful,” at least a dozen times under his breath. He feels himself getting closer, gets his hand on Whiskey, stroking him closer. Whiskey comes with a shudder and gasp and Kent fucks him through it, watching as his face contorts. Kent falls over the edge, collapsing against Whiskey’ chest. He pulls out, both of them breathing heavy, sticky with sweat. 

“Man,” Kent huffs, “I’d climb any tree for that.”

Whiskey laughs, “D’you wanna let me out?” He asks. 

“Ah, shit,” Kent nods, “Yeah,” he straightens up and undoes the snaps keeping Whiskey’s hands in place. He thinks he’ll deal with the strings later. 

Whiskey flexes his hands, curling his fingers. Kent sits cross legged at the end of the bed. 

“Did you like it?” Kent asks. 

Whiskey nods, “A lot,” he says, “I uh,” he blushes, it’s always funny to Kent the things Whiskey blushes over, not the actual sex but talking about it after, “I like it when you’re in control and this kind of made it so I had to let you be.”

“I liked that too,” Kent says. 

“We’ll have to do that again,” Kent says. 

Whiskey nods, “Yes please.”

He drops the condom in Whiskey’s trash can and pulls his boxers back on. He finds Whiskey’s water bottle on his desk and throws it at him along with a box of tissues to clean up. Whiskey catches the bottle, the tissues hit his chest. He wipes himself off and throws the tissues into the trash can. Kent crawls back into bed with Whiskey and tucks his head into the crook of Whiskey’s neck. 

“Hi,” Whiskey says, his chest is still heaving. 

Kent tilts his head up to kiss Whiskey on the cheek. 

“You good?” Kent asks. 

“Better than good,” Whiskey says. 

“Now that I know you have that shoebox, I’m expecting you to step up your sexting game,” Kent bumps his shoulder against Whiskey’s, teasing. 

Whiskey rolls his eyes. 

“And I’ll have to thank Ford for getting you drunk enough to buy this stuff.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I mean, she knows you have it,” Kent says, entirely joking, Whiskey can tell, “Do you expect her to think we’re not using it?”

“With any luck she doesn’t think about it at all,” Whiskey elbows him playfully. 

Kent looks over at the digital clock that Whiskey keeps on his nightstand. It’s a little after midnight, he tries to get to bed early the night before a game, but he’d rather stay up with Whiskey, he can nap once they get to the hotel.

“What time do you have to get out of here?” Whiskey asks, he’s twirling a strand of Kent’s hair around his finger absentmindedly. 

“The bus leaves the hotel at 11, so if I catch a flight by 9, I’ll make it.”

“Your flyer miles must be adding up.”

“Wanna cash in for a trip to Disney world?” Kent asks, “Fuck the game, let’s meet Mickey Mouse.”

Whiskey laughs, “It is only the Islanders, I bet they could manage without you.”

“Swoops covers for me when I sneak out, I bet he could cover for me on the bench,” Kent says. 

And he starts to actually consider it, how nice it would be to just spend a day together, something they haven’t got to do since Whiskey started class and Kent started training camp. He shakes his head. It’s a dumb idea. 

“You should sleep,” Whiskey says. 

“M’not tired,” Kent says through a yawn. 

“And I totally believe you,” Whiskey says, Kent can hear the eyeroll. 

He falls asleep, eyes fluttering closed. He feels Whiskey’s body pressed up behind him. He takes comfort in every single point of contact between them. Whiskey’s arm thrown over his shoulders, the instep off his foot pressed against Kent’s heel. The way his other hand rests on top of Kent’s. 

Sometimes Kent thinks it’s some kind of cosmic injustice, that he’s found someone that he loves, who loves him back, whose body fits so perfectly against his, he thinks it’s a cruel torture that despite this, he goes to sleep alone most nights. 

Whiskey squeezes his hand and Kent’s out. Whiskey pulls the covers over both of them. The air around them is pretty cold but under the covers, it’s warm and cozy and Kent snuggles in. He’ll take this twin bed with Whiskey pressed against him over the empty bed, no matter how nice the hotel is. 

He wakes up a few hours later, the sun’s peaking out, the room is washed in soft blue light. He squints as he wakes up, reaches out to find Whiskey but only finds empty sheets, he looks up, over at Whiskey’s desk. He hears the gentle sound of Whiskey tapping his laptop keys. He looks over at the alarm clock 5:17. 

“How long have you been awake?” Kent asks. 

“An hour,” Whiskey says, “I’ve been pulling all nighters for midterms. so I kind of messed up my sleep schedule,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal, because it probably isn’t to him. 

Kent stands up to stretch, Whiskey shamelessly turns to watch him, eyes glancing over his stomach, his abs as Kent twists, shaking off sleep. Kent walks up behind him, wraps his arms around Whiskey’s shoulders and kisses him from behind. 

“Whatcha reading?” Kent asks. 

“Mass communication homework,” Whiskey rolls his eyes, “It’s boring.” Whiskey turns around to look at Kent, twisting his torso so he’s facing him, “You should distract me,” he says before pressing their lips together. 

Kent lets the kiss happen, but he puts his hand in between them, “Finish your work,” he says. 

“Fine,” Whiskey grumbles. 

Kent stays behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, just happy to be there. 

He hears something outside the window, thinks it’s just a bird until he hears. 

“Yo Whiskey I brought you breakfast since you said you were studying. I figured you wouldn’t want to get distracted downstairs and Dex made waffles and they’re really good, you still like waffles right? and holy fuck, hi Kent.”

Kent whips around to see Tango standing in front of the window holding a plate of what, in fairness, do look like some really good waffles. 

“Do you want some waffles?” Tango asks, “I can get more.”

Kent shakes his head, “Did you come in through the window?”

Whiskey’s turned around in his desk chair and he’s looking at Tango with a mildly amused look on his face. 

“He does that sometimes,” Whiskey says. 

“Your door was locked,” Tango says. 

“So you… just crawled in through the window.”

“Yeah,” Tango says, “If I climb out the hall window I can just pop in and say hi.”

“And this just happens?” He turns to Whiskey.

“Yeah,” Whiskey says. 

“Pants,” Kent says, looking down at his nearly naked body, realizing that he would very much rather be clothed to talk to Whiskey’s friends this early in the morning. 

“Oh shit, yeah, I can wait outside,” Tango says, setting down the plate of waffles and turning back to the window. 

“It’s fine,” Kent says, he’s had enough of that window for one day.

He rifles around in Whiskey’s pants drawer and finds a pair of sweatpants. He gets one leg in when he turns around to see Ford climbing in the window. 

“Hey Kent!” she says, chipper. 

Kent almost trips over his feet getting the sweatpants on. 

“Do none of you knock?” Kent hisses. 

“It’s just Tango and Foxtrot,” Whiskey shrugs. 

“I thought this was a secret visit,” Kent turns to Whiskey. 

“Oh we knew you were here,” Tango says. 

“Fucking what?” Kent snaps, not with any malice. 

“I have you on snap. You left your location on,” Ford taps the back of her phone. 

Kent sighs and flops into Whiskey’s bed. 

“Did you fly here?” Tango asks. 

“No, I walked,” Kent looks at him, playfully grumpy at being discovered.

“So do you just hang out in here?” Kent asks the pair. 

“Sometimes,” Tango says, “Some people have an open door policy like Chowder, but Whiskey has an open window policy. Just for us though.”

“For me too apparently,” Kent laughs, “And to think I thought I was your window’s first,” Kent says, mock offended. 

“Sorry babe, my window’s kind of a whore,” Whiskey deadpans. 

“Don’t slut shame the window,” Ford chastises. 

“You didn’t have a problem slut shaming on Thursday.”

“You brought two girls home within three hours of each other and I wasn’t shaming, just pointing it out.”

Whiskey and Tango start laughing which in turn makes Kent and Ford start laughing. 

Ford sits on the bed next to Kent, as she catches her breath. 

“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Ford asks. 

“I was being  _ sneaky _ ,” Kent insists. 

There’s something about being playfully teased by Whiskey’s best friends that makes him feel nice. 

“Well, how’d that work out?” Tango asks. 

Kent grumbles. 

There’s a knock at the door and Kent falls back against the headboard. He feels something hit the back of his head. It’s the cuffs that they forgot to untie from the bedpost last night. Kent keeps his head very very still, maybe no one will see them if he just very casually holds his neck at a 90 degree angle blocking them from view. 

“Hey Whiskey,” Kent doesn’t recognize the voice, “I just finished in the shower if you or… anyone else needs to use my bathroom, the sink in the hall one is still clogged.”

“Thanks Chowder,” Whiskey answers. 

Kent stands up, “Does everyone know?” He hisses, “And why is everybody awake so early.”

“Everyone in the Haus is chill,” Ford says at the same time as Tango says “Dex cooks loud.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says, “Did I climb a tree for nothing?”

“I mean, I don’t think Chowder knows that you’re  _ you _ ,” Ford says, “If that helps.”

“Slightly, thank you,” Kent says. 

“Why are you laying like that?” Tango asks, “Is your neck sore or something.” 

Death, death, Kent wishes for death. 

“Nope, just comfortable,” Kent puts his hand under his head to try to look more casual. 

Whiskey, who up until this point had been calmly sitting in his desk chair chatting away, suddenly goes pale. His eyes go wide and they meet Kent’s. 

“Okay,” Whiskey says and he stands up, “Well I have to finish this reading so maybe you guys should head out. He unlocks the door which in that moment swings open, pushed by a knock. Kent recognizes the D-man standing at the door. 

“Whiskey I wanted to return your textbook,” Nursey says, “thanks bro you saved my ass,”

Kent doesn’t have time to move or hide before Nursey’s eyes land on him. 

“Nursey, this is my boyfriend,” Whiskey says quickly, “Tango and Ford were just leaving. Whiskey snatches the textbook and with his other hand pushes Tango and Ford out the door closing it behind them. 

“Dude is it just me or does Whiskey’s boyfriend look like Kent Parson,” Kent hears Nursey muse as he walks down the hall. 

“Nah just you,” Ford snorts. 

“No man, I swear.”

Kent flops his head out of the way as Whiskey rushes over to the headboard and pulls the cuffs off of the headboard. He drops them in his drawer. 

“So I climbed that tree for nothing,” Kent finally says. 

“Looks that way,” Whiskey smirks, “If it helps, it definitely added a very sexy vibe to the whole thing,” Whiskey trails his fingers over Kent’s chest. Kent rolls his eyes at him but grabs Whiskey’s hand and kisses it anyway. 

“Next time I’m using the front door,” Kent says, “How many of your teammates know, anyway?” he asks, he’s trying not to sound paranoid, but he does like to keep track. 

“Only Tango and Ford about you specifically, Nursey maybe too now, but honestly I can convince him you’re just a dude who looks a lot like Kent Parson.”

Kent chuckles at that. 

“But I told Dex and Nursey a couple months ago, just that I’m like… not straight. Basically I guess just everyone in the Haus now that I know Chowder knows. Not the waffles or the crickets though,” Whiskey shrugs. 

“It’d be okay if those guys that you mentioned, the ones in the Haus, it’d be okay if they knew about me,” Kent says softly. 

Whiskey hasn’t done his hair yet, which means that he doesn’t swat Kent’s hand away when he runs his fingers through the strands at the top of his head. 

“Yeah, eventually,” Whiskey says, “Whenever it’s relevant.”

“It’ll be relevant when I call an uber in about an hour because I’m not climbing down the tree.”

Whiskey laughs, “I can agree to that,” he says, “Honestly Nursey and Dex go to the library on Saturdays and Chowder’s going to his girlfriend’s so no awkward conversations.”

“No more awkward than you trying to hide the cuffs.”

“I was not about to get chirped by some college kids for  _ that _ ,” Kent snorts. 

“You were ready to send Ford a thank you note last night,” Whiskey rolls his eyes. 

“I can be thankful and want to avoid chirps,” Kent says. 

Whiskey’s resting against his bare chest he looks up at him and smiles, closes his eyes, relaxed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this stuff?” Kent asks, “Like...was that something you wanted before?” Kent asks.

“No,” Whiskey answers, “I’m not…”

“Kinky?” Kent says in a teasing voice even though it’s what he actually means.

“I dunno it’s like… I never really thought about that stuff until Ford convinced me to look at some of it with her, which I thought was really weird but it actually wasn’t,” his voice goes up at the end of his sentence, “I guess it’s not that weird to talk to your friends about sex,” he shrugs, “But I just kind of ordered it without thinking and honestly I didn’t even know I wanted to do that until the cuffs actually got here and I kept thinking about you doing that to me.”

Kent nods while Whiskey talks. 

“I know you don’t like to talk about sex,” Kent starts. 

“I’m working on it,” Whiskey interrupts. 

“So then,” Kent says, “If there’s anything you want, you can ask for it,” Kent says. 

“You too,” Whiskey says. 

Kent bites his lip, “I want you to send me a video next time you use that dildo,” he says, he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought of that since the moment he found the box. 

“I think I can do that,” Kent can feel the corner of Whiskey’s mouth turn up against his face. 

“I gotta go soon,” Kent says. He’s staring up at Whiskey’s ceiling. 

“I know,” Whiskey sighs, “It was a good visit.”

“More soon,” Kent says.

“Just tell me when and where,” Whiskey says. 

“I was actually thinking… I still want to tell my mom,” he swallows, “After I do that, we could find a weekend and get dinner together,” Kent braces to be told no, but Whiskey tightens his grip on Kent’s hand and nods. 

“I’d love that,” Whiskey says softly. 

“If it goes well, obviously,” Kent says. 

Whiskey squeezes his hand tighter, “We’ll get dinner just us then,” he kisses the back of Kent’s ring finger, he wonders how intentional that choice was. 

The worst part is always leaving. When he has to sit up and find the clothes he wore last night and track down his phone. Usually it’s Whiskey that leaves, after they’ve met up in Kent’s hotel, but this time it’s Kent’s turn. And it’s an extra kind of painful knowing that Whiskey’s going to be sitting in his room for the rest of the day and Kent just  _ can’t  _ be there. Like the world’s lamest case of FOMO, he’s sad he’ll miss doing nothing with Whiskey. 

“We’ll watch tonight,” Whiskey says. Kent’s doing up the last button of his shirt before he has to leave, drawing it out as long as possible, waiting to order the Uber until the last possible minute. 

“I’ll call you after,” Kent promises, he doesn’t really have to say it because he always does anyway, tells Swoops whether he can stick around and say hi, or if he needs to make himself scarce for a couple hours. Either way, Kent makes it a priority to talk to Whiskey. 

“I know you will,” Whiskey says. 

They hold hands walking down the stairs. Kent hugs him tight on the porch whispers a final, “Love you, goodbye,” as the uber driver pulls up.

He can’t understate how much he hates this part. Whiskey waves gently from the porch, Kent waves back. This part sucks. It’ll be better when he gets on the bus and Whiskey sends him the podcast that he’s going to listen to while he works out so Kent can hit play at the same time and they can text each other about it after. But this part, the part he’s in right now, sucks, unequivocally. 

**Author's Note:**

> did it get a little sad/sappy at the end, yes  
> did i imply that kelli pegs her boyfriend/fiance, jeffrey troy, also yes


End file.
